


At Your Funeral

by eternaleponine



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2012-10-03
Packaged: 2017-11-15 14:16:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The members of the Avengers attend Agent Coulson's funeral.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Your Funeral

"I can't do this." Clint tugged at the knot of his tie, yanking it loose. "Natasha, I can't—"

"You can," she said with a sigh, fidgeting with the clasp of her necklace, but she couldn't make it catch. "You just don't want to."

"No. I can't. There's no way I can face everyone, not when—"

Natasha turned on him then, closing the distance between them in a few quick steps. "Stop," she snapped, grabbing his tie and fixing it. "Don't do this. Not now." She looked up at him, barefoot so the top of her head was level with his nose. "If you can't do this, Clint, then have Hawkeye do it."

Because it would sure as hell be Black Widow at the funeral that day. What she wouldn't say was that he needed him to get it together, because she couldn't do this either. Not alone.

"Nat." His hands closed over hers. "I'm sorry."

She brushed him off, turning her back on him and going back to the mirror. "I don't need sorry. I need strong."

Clint looked at her then, watching her face in the mirror like he was seeing her for the first time. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Okay." He came up behind her and took the necklace from her hands, clasping it with deft fingers, his touch lingering for a moment.

She bowed her head, letting herself accept that tiny gesture of comfort before straightening her spine, steeling herself against what was to come.

There was only the slightest hesitation at the door. Clint slid his sunglasses down and Natasha set her jaw, her face a mask. They walked side by side, sliding into the back seat of the car that would take them to the funeral home because apparently they couldn't be trusted to drive.

They were greeted at the door by Agent Hill, her expression cool, her voice distant. "Agent Barton. Agent Romanoff." They nodded in return and stepped into the middling group of mostly S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, all of whom seemed to glance at them and look quickly away. At least they knew better than to try and offer condolences. There were no words for situations like this.

Unless, of course, you were Tony Stark, in which case there were plenty of words, none of them appropriate. "Natashalie! My favorite double agent! And you're brain-washed b— OW!" He broke off as Pepper ground her heel into his foot.

"I'm sorry," she said. "He's drunk."

"You don't say," Natasha replied dryly.

"How are you, Nat...?" Even Pepper couldn't cover the fact that she didn't know what to call her, Natalie or Natasha. But her eyes were red-rimmed; this was obviously hitting her hard. Tony had lived, but a friend had died, and Natasha knew the sort of inner conflict that could cause. She couldn't hold the name issue against her.

"I'm fine," she lied, and felt Clint shift slightly closer.

"You cut your hair. It looks nice," Pepper said.

"Thank you," Natasha murmured, and then they all just stood looking not quite at each other while Tony muttered under his breath about how he ought to press charges for assault and how he might need an x-ray.

"I could make you forget how much your foot hurts," Natasha purred, the corner of her mouth lifting in a barely suppressed smirk. Clint snickered.

Tony peered at her over his sunglasses, his mouth hanging open, momentarily dumbfounded.

"Only because you'd be too focused on how much some other part of you hurts," Clint said. "Don't get too excited."

"You wouldn't like it," Natasha agreed.

"You would be surprised what—" Tony started, and had to sidestep quickly to avoid Pepper's heel mashing his other foot.

"I'm sorry. I don't believe we've met." Pepper offered her hand to Clint. "Pepper Potts."

"Clint Barton," he said, shaking it. "Nice to meet you."

"I'm sorry for your loss," she said.

"Likewise," Clint mumbled, and they all lapsed back into awkward silence.

A ripple of whispers preceded Thor's appearance, with him towering half a head taller than pretty much everyone else. He was dressed in regular clothing, and it was a little jarring to see him out of his armor. He had delayed his return to Asgard in order to attend the funeral, and although Clint couldn't really begrudge him the chance to say goodbye, it left him on edge about the whereabouts of Loki. Who was watching him? Was there any way for him to get away again?

"He was a good man, the Son of Coul," Thor said, his voice too loud for the hushed space, even when he tried to keep quiet. They nodded in agreement. He had been a good man, it was true. He had been good to all of them at one time or another. 

Doctor Banner arrived with Steve, and they added themselves to the group that had slowly found its way to a corner. Clint and Natasha had positioned themselves with their backs to the wall, keeping tabs on the goings on, paranoid even in a gathering that should have been the safest place on earth to be. 

There was small talk, pleasantries exchanged, but without a common purpose, there was very little for them to say to each other, and even Tony had sunk into sullen silence. But they stood together, and everyone else gave them a wide berth. Maybe they thought the group was contagious, or maybe they were intimidated. Natasha didn't know, and she didn't care. She was happy enough to stay where she was, secluded and able to keep watch over the people that mattered most, whose number had only recently expanded to the point where she could no longer count them on one hand.

The memorial service was short. It didn't seem right, that there wasn't a proper eulogy, but those who had known him best couldn't find the words, and those who hadn't known him as well... what right did they have to speak about his loss when they couldn't truly grasp the depths of it?

The trip to the cemetery was short, but as soon as they stepped out of the car, Natasha was on high alert. There were too many places for someone to hide, too many shadows and too much open space. It was a mistake, being here.

"I can't do this," Natasha whispered into Clint's ear. 

"You can," he replied. "It'll be all right."

She was armed. They were both armed, but it didn't feel like enough. Not when one of the few sources of stability either of them had ever had, one of the few constants, was gone, about to be lowered six feet into the ground and buried. 

"We've faced worse than this," he told her. "We came out the other side."

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, steeling herself against what was about to happen, and the finality of it all. She wouldn't admit the relief she felt when the other Avengers formed a sort of living wall behind her and Clint as they stood at the graveside, and neither would Clint, but she could feel a little of his tension ebb as one exposed angle was closed off. 

And if, as the first handful of dirt was dropped to rattle on the casket, the others saw it when their hands locked together and clung for dear life, she knew that they would never tell.


End file.
